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墨書 Inktalez
The moment the Live Camera poked into the Fallopian Tube ligation point, the Stretch Marks on the inner wall of my real Uterus suddenly cracked into Barcode. When the rose petals flying out of the Danmaku cut the Cervical Mucus Plug and the chocolate gold coins blocked the caesarean section, the cold air from the Cold Chain Transport Box was gushing out of my real Umbilical Cord. Director Wang's Expander bit the Dark Web Live Streaming Phone, and the Metal reflection reflected Twenty Years Ago Delivery Room Monitoring——Mother holding the Dead Infant corpse and stuffing my Social Security Card into the Medical Tray filled with cash. When his glasses chain tightened my Fallopian Tube, the ashes of the 2003 drug case file seeped out of the gaps between the links. "Close-Up Shot Push!" Mother's high heel Heel twisted into the cesarean section incision, and the microscopic camera that popped out of the Heel Spring began to scan the inner wall of the Ovary. The Tip Amount that Danmaku had brushed turned into a Scalpel, cutting open the Stretch Marks of my real lower abdomen, and in each crack, there flowed the Number of files on baby trafficking cases from different years. The Umbilical Cord that popped out of the policewoman's tactical belt suddenly turned around and Clamp bit Stepfather's carotid artery. At the moment when the nutrient solution pipeline burst, the Undercover Police document that was pierced by a bullet floated in the pool of blood - the forged steel stamp of my Birth Certificate was printed on the Iris in his left eye. "Cargo must be fresh!" Stepfather's Crocodile Leather Shoes crushed my left Ovary, and the lines on the soles oozed out the Cross-Border Logistics Order Watermark. The Frozen Embryo Transport Agreement popped out of his torn tie's Inner Pocket, and the Signature of Party B was branded with the Blood Character that I had carved on the wall of the ward after my Miscarriage when I was fourteen years old. The burning Live Streaming Phone Screen suddenly expanded, and the Carnival special effects turned into a solid Expander that stretched the birth canal. Check slipped out of Director Wang's white coat pocket, and the ink softened by Amniotic Fluid was smudged into the Missing Young Girl List, which was crawling on the tiles with the frequency of the contractions. The sensor under Mother Wig suddenly exploded, and the newly grafted hair entangled my Fallopian Tube Ligation Line. The Hair Dye dripping from the ends of my hair reacts with thrombin prokinase, etching the Dark Web IP Address of the Organ Trafficking Organization on the Surgical Light cover. "Warning! Product's vital signs are declining!" The alarm of the Fetal Monitor shatters the auxiliary Obstetrical Forceps. The flame-retardant fabric of the policewoman's uniform curls and falls off, revealing the remnants of my Junior High school uniform at the thread ends under my armpits - that was the clothes I was wearing on the day I was locked in the freezer. The glass fragments in my back teeth suddenly became hot, and when they cut my gums, it was not blood that gushed out, but the Cold Chain Transport Box Number. The tip of my tongue tasted the frost of the Cold Chain Transport Box on Christmas Eve 2013, when my Stepfather Wedding Ring left the Customs quarantine stamp on the ligation point of my Fallopian Tube. Director Wang's glasses chain suddenly tightened the Cervix opening, and the Metal clip ejected the Customs seals of seventy-two countries. The Dark Web auction Countdown turned into tocolytic hormone and was injected into the veins. The embryos in the Incubator stretched out hundreds of arms, and each Palm was branded with the Social Security Number of Missing Girl. "Live Stream Traffic has exceeded one million!" Mother's scream shattered the surgical shadowless lamp. The falling lampshade fragments cut open her Silicone Mask, and the micro camera at her cheekbone was Live Streaming my liver that was being removed - the Barcode on the organ surface was exactly the same as the Number in the Twenty Years Ago case file for infant trafficking. In the Surveillance Footage that the policewoman's Compound Eyes exploded into, I touched the Spare Magazine on her lower back. The Brass Shell is dated the night I was locked in the freezer, with fragments of Mother Surrogacy Contract embedded in the primer and the bullet head engraved with the name of the girl who was signing the Organ Donation Consent Form.
The wedding ring of my stepfather got stuck at the ligation point of the fallopian tube, the inner edge of the ring snagging an embryo specimen from the freezer along with the umbilical cord. The diamond refracted the vascular network of the incubator and recombinant organ, each capillary marked with the cryptocurrency wallet address of a dark web buyer.
"Thirty seconds left in the bidding!" Director Wang's roar mingled with the long beep of the fetal heart reaching zero. From his torn aseptic gloves fell a bullet shell from the scene of a narcotics officer's martyrdom, its inner wall engraved with the altered date of my vaccination record.
My bloodied fingertip suddenly brushed against the iris of a female officer, which was shedding its skin. The body camera hidden behind her pupil began to replay—twenty years ago in the delivery room, my mother clutched a dead infant with an ankle bracelet, stuffing my real birth certificate into a body bag at the funeral home.
The burning firefighting air cushion suddenly exploded, charred fragments forming the key to a transnational organ trafficking chain. In the thick smoke appeared an undercover police file uploaded just before their family was wiped out, data gushing from my cervical mucus plug and coalescing on the operating room floor into a blood character for a whistleblower letter.
"The transport capsule is ready!" My stepfather's crocodile leather shoes were suddenly ensnared by an embryo umbilical cord. Hundreds of arms branded with customs stamps dragged him toward the explosion center, and what splattered when his heel shattered were not skin flakes but rubber particles collected from various missing persons case scenes over the years.
My mother's high heel suddenly broke, and what sprang out was not a shoe nail but a recording chip I had hidden on the night I was assaulted in junior high. The moment the chip was inserted into the fetal monitor, real-time bidding data from the entire dark web live room began to glitch and reorganize.
Director Wang's expander was flung away, shattering the glass of an incubator, as seventy-two embryos simultaneously opened their eyes marked with men's social security numbers. Their umbilical cords ensnared a scalpel that flew toward the live camera; at the moment the blade pierced the screen, my crushed molar glass finally severed the fallopian tube ligation line.
In the last frame before my retina detached, a complete evidence chain emerged in the melting iris of the female officer. The pupil and iris membrane she shed drifted into the burning firefighting air cushion embers, forming my altered certificate of death's date of issue at birth.
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